Dragon's Flower
by cls81690
Summary: Draco Malfoy meets an American transfer student in the middle of his 6th year. Azalea Xavier is nothing like anyone he's ever known, but opposites attract and both change over time. Humorous, not sappy. Not canon according to books 5 and on. Draco is OoC.
1. The Beginning

Dragon's Flower

Disclaimer: If I owned the characters in Harry Potter, I wouldn't be writing this disclaimer.

Chapter One: The Beginning

"Excuse me, where can I find Professor Dumbledore?" a petite American girl asked.

The redheaded boy she'd asked looked at her strangely. "Um, his office is up those stairs and to the left. I don't know the current password, but just say all the candies you can think of until the gargoyle lets you in."

"Thank you." She smiled and left.

"No problem…" the boy muttered, staring after her.

When the girl arrived at the stone gargoyle, she began listing every wizarding sweet she knew. "Bertie Botts Every Flavor Beans, Chocolate Frogs, Drooble's Best Blowing Gum… oh, thank you," she said to the gargoyle. She couldn't think of any more wizarding candies, and she was afraid she'd have to start listing muggle sweets. She didn't know many of those.

The girl walked up the staircase and into a large room filled with books and magical gadgets. "Excuse me, Professor Dumbledore?" she called. She tentatively took a step forward, and almost ran into a large birdcage.

"Oh! Well, aren't you something!" she said in amazement. A scarlet phoenix was sitting in the cage, looking at her with his head cocked to one side.

"His name is Fawkes," a voice said behind her. She jumped, and hastily turned around.

"Oh, hello, Headmaster. I'm Azalea Xavier; I'm the new transfer student."

"Of course, Miss Xavier, welcome. Please sit down." Professor Dumbledore sat down at his desk and motioned with his wand. A comfortable-looking armchair appeared.

"Thank you," she said, and sat.

"It's very unusual to have a student come to Hogwarts in the middle of their sixth year. You are quite the exception, Miss Xavier. I suppose the first step is to have you sorted."

"Sorted?" she questioned, cocking her head to one side.

"Yes. Now where did I put that- ah, there it is." Dumbledore waved his wand and muttered, "Accio!" A dusty black hat flew down from the top of a tall bookcase and landed on his desk.

Azalea stared in amazement. "Erm, sir, what is that?"

"That is the Sorting Hat. The four founders created it. Go ahead, put it on." Hesitantly, she obeyed.

"Well, what have we here?" a voice asked, sounding amused.

"I'm a transfer student," Azalea whispered.

"There is no need to talk; the hat can hear your thoughts," she heard Dumbledore say. He sounded oddly distant for someone sitting just four feet away.

"Oh, a transfer student, how interesting. Do you know what the four houses are?"

_Yes_, she thought. _Ravenclaw, Slytherin, Hufflepuff, and Gryffindor. _She had done her homework.

"Correct. Do you know what each house's founder valued? No? Helga Hufflepuff valued loyalty the most, and Rowena Ravenclaw placed brains above all else. Godric Gryffindor thought that bravery was most important, and Salazar Slytherin believed that a thirst for power was the one thing his students should have."

_Oh,_ she thought,_ where do I belong? _She didn't know if she had any of those types of traits.

"You are difficult to place. You are extremely loyal to your friends, very smart –you seem almost a match for Miss Granger- and no coward, either…."

_Who?_ Azalea asked, confused.

"Never mind. I'm sure you'll meet her soon enough. Where do you want to be placed?"

_I don't know, _she answered honestly. _It's interesting, though. The one place you haven't said I belong in is Slytherin._

"Oh, you noticed that, did you? You might find Slytherin interesting, and you could certainly do some good there, but…."

_Well, then, put me there._

"Are you sure?" the hat asked her.

_Why not?_

"Many dark wizards come out of Slytherin. Unless you changed or caused someone else to, you'd have to spend all your time somewhere other than the common room and dormitory or be miserable."

Azalea considered that for a moment. _Is there any other house where I'd fit in better?_

"Unfortunately, no. In most of the houses, the 6th years have already formed cliques, and you probably wouldn't like Ravenclaw or Hufflepuff anyway. Gryffindor you might enjoy, but if you wish I'll put you in Slytherin."

_It can't be any worse than my last school._

"SLYTHERIN!" Had Azalea been watching, she would have seen Dumbledore's eyebrows rise a good two inches. Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore had seen enough not to be surprised by much, but he had not expected this small, soft-spoken witch to be placed in a House known more for ambition and cunning than pleasant attitudes. He would have to keep a close eye on this one.

First Day:

Azalea looked around her new room and sighed. It could be worse. Maybe. She already had to share a room with Millicent Bulstrode and Pansy Parkington. Oh, well. At least she was allowed to keep a potted plant in the room. The headmistress at her old school had absolutely hated anything green.

Azalea finished unpacking and sat down on her bed with a sigh. What on earth would Toby think? _Might as well write him a letter_, she thought. _I'll send one to Perry and Zia, too. _She took out a piece of paper and a pen and began writing.

Hey, Cousin-

How are you? I'm fine, by some standards. Life at Hogwarts thus far is interesting, that's for sure. I don't think I really belong in any of the houses, but Slytherin can't be any worse than either of the last two schools I went to. Nothing could be worse than

"What is that?"

Azalea jumped. "Oh, Millicent, hello. I didn't hear you come in."

"What is that?" Millicent repeated, pointing to Azalea's hand.

Azalea glanced down. "That? It's a pen, Millicent."

"And that?"

Azalea gave her a funny look. "That's paper."

"What are they for?"

"They're for writing. I'm writing a letter."

"Oh. Why don't you just use parchment and a quill?"

Azalea sighed. "Because I'm a weird American, that's why." It was going to be a long semester.

At dinner, Azalea ended up sitting next to a tall boy with white-blonde hair. He seemed to be a prefect, and also rather arrogant.

"Hello," she said, turning toward him. "I'm Azalea Xavier."

He looked at her. "Malfoy. Draco Malfoy."

"Pleased to meet you, Draco." A white lie never hurt anyone.

"Are you new?" he asked, not recognizing her.

"Yes, I am."

"Hm. Thought so."

She raised an eyebrow. "Obviously, otherwise you wouldn't have asked."

He glared. "Pureblood, mudblood, or mix?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"Are you a pureblood, a mudblood, or a mix of the two?"

"I'm sorry, I don't believe I understand the terms." Her tone of voice made it quite clear that she understood perfectly.

"You know, are you from a completely wizarding family, a muggle family, or a part-wizard and part-muggle family? You understand _those_ terms, don't you?" he drawled.

"Yes, you've made yourself quite clear. No, I have no muggle blood. Would it matter if I did?"

"Possibly not. Some families, like the Weasleys, are pureblood but still scum."

"I see. I take it you value your pureblood status."

"Of course." He raised an eyebrow. "I take it you don't?"

"I'd never really thought about it before, actually."

"Really?" He looked surprised.

"Of course. Why would I have said that if I didn't mean it?"

This annoyed him. "That was an interjection; it was rhetorical."

"It was a question, and therefore got an answer," Azalea answered matter-of-factly.

Draco changed the subject. "What the hell are you doing in Slytherin?"

"Oh, I don't know. When I was little I always did dream of being a princess." She smiled and shrugged. Of course, she knew perfectly well why she was in Slytherin: There wasn't any better place for her. She didn't belong anywhere, so she might as well be in Slytherin. At least the hat had said she might be able to help. Azalea wasn't sure what he meant by that, but no matter. Nothing mattered.

"And you?" she inquired.

"What?" Draco asked, confused.

"And what are you doing in Slytherin?" She sounded as if she were talking about the weather: polite but disinterested.

"All the Malfoys were in Slytherin."

"Yes, but why are _you_ in Slytherin? I didn't ask about your ancestors."

"I just told you! The Malfoys always are in Slytherin."

"No, no, no. Your family has nothing to do with it. Why are _you_ in Slytherin?" she repeated for the third time.

Draco looked confused. "Because, it's where every Malfoy was."

"Draco, I don't think you understand my question. I'm not asking about your family history. I'm asking what traits you have that the Sorting Hat thought you belonged in Slytherin."

"Oh, well-" he stopped. "What?"

Azalea shook her head. "Never mind." She was beginning to wonder if stupidity was another trait that Salazar Slytherin valued: So far every Slytherin she'd met was rather idiotic. Pansy, Millicent, Draco- and Draco's friends Crabbe and Goyle didn't look any smarter. In fact, they looked less intelligent than Millicent, if that was possible. It was going to be a long term.

Author's Note: Please review! I'd love to hear any suggestions, or what I could do better. It will take me a long time in between updates, because I have a very busy life (it took a year from the time when I put it up to the time when I first updated it!), but please don't give up on me. I can never truly abandon a story.


	2. Evening

Dragon's Flower, Chapter Two

Disclaimer: If I owned Harry Potter, no one would have died and I'd be eating wizard chocolate right now. Capisce?

This was not working, Azalea thought decisively. There was no way on God's green earth that she was going to be able to get any sleep in this room. Both Millicent and Pansy snored, and one of them had a serious case of flatulence.

Well, if she was awake, she might as well do something useful. She needed a shower. Sighing, Azalea threw back her covers and softly slid onto the cold hardwood floor, hoping that for once the boards wouldn't creak. They did, of course, but her roommates didn't stir.

Quietly as she could, Azalea gathered up her shower supplies and towel and slipped out of her room. She tiptoed down to the empty green and silver common room. Let's see, Pansy had told her that the girls' bathroom was down the hall, up the stairs, and left... or was it down the hall, left, and up the stairs? Azalea chewed on her lower lip. She frowned; well, only one way to find out. She pushed open the door to the hall, thanked the suit of armor guarding it, and promptly got lost.

She'd only been walking for five minutes when she glanced behind her and realized that she didn't recognize the hall behind her; it was as unfamiliar as the way she was going. Backtracking, Azalea started to panic. Nothing was familiar! Not a single corridor looked like the ones she'd been in before. She started to hyperventilate when she turned back around and almost ran into a staircase that she was absolutely certain hadn't been there the moment before.

Okay, that was enough! Azalea was about to lose it. She backed away, looking suspiciously from side to side as if the walls would slide into new positions at any moment. "Breath, Zales, breathe," she told herself, exhaling shakily. "You'll find your way eventually." She no longer cared about taking a shower; she just wanted to get back to her room. Shaking her head to try and clear it, she picked a direction and started off. She'd get someplace eventually. That was the plan, anyway.

The plan did not work. "Good Lord," Azalea muttered peevishly after she passed a statue of Emmeline the Hairy for what must have been the third time. "It's like the freaking Labyrinth in here!"

"Labyrinth?" a smooth male voice inquired.

Azalea turned around slowly, pasting a fake smile onto her face. "A famous maze in Muggle mythology. Good evening, Draco."

It was indeed the blond Slytherin prefect who stood before her, soaking wet and dressed in only a towel. Azalea suddenly understood why the boy was so popular. Stupid and arrogant he may be, but he was also dead sexy! "Azalea, isn't it?" Mr. Dead Sexy himself asked. A certain indescribable look in his eyes -almost a challenge- told her that he remembered her perfectly.

Azalea understood that he was trying to turn the encounter into a sort of power struggle by making the meeting go on his terms. So, she ignored his question. Instead, she asked, "Am I anywhere remotely close to the girls' bathroom? I was going to take a shower, but I got lost."

Draco raised an eyebrow. Azalea fought a sudden and near-irresistible urge to slap the smirk off his face as he answered, "You're near _a _bathroom, of course, but not the one you want."

Arrogant bastard, Azalea thought as she smiled pleasantly. "How so?" she asked, a puzzled tone in her voice.

"You're right next to the prefects' bathroom, but you can't use that," Draco replied. There was an American expression, 'No sh, Sherlock,' that Azalea thought would be very appropriate for the occasion. But she kept her mouth shut and let him explain unnecessarily, "You're not a prefect." She didn't even say 'Thank you, Captain Obvious,' although he _really_ deserved it.

"I see," she said politely.

"The bathroom you probably wanted is in the first corridor on the left when you exit the Common Room. It's the second door to the right."

"Oh, I see," Azalea said. "No staircases involved?"

"No, why?"  
Azalea frowned. "Hmm, that's odd. I could have sworn..."

"Who gave you directions?"

"Pansy Parkinson. I must have remembered them wrong."

The tall boy smirked. "It would seem so. How did you end up all the way over here? You're on the fifth floor, closer to Gryffindor than to our Common Room."

"Oh," Azalea said. She was trying very hard to keep her eyes focused on his face on not on his extremely-well-defined chest and ab muscles. _Down, Zales_, she told herself firmly. Off-limits: He's a jerk.

"Think you can find your way back?" To her surprise, he wasn't smirking. He was laughing at her, she could tell by his eyes, but it wasn't in an altogether mean sort of way.

"Honestly, no," she admitted. It was better not to deny it. Saving face was nice, but she didn't want to spend another hour wandering the castle. It was too cold for that in November.

Now Draco laughed out loud. It was a pleasant sound, not the scorn-filled scoff she would have expected. She felt her heartrate quicken, and she looked away. She didn't want him to see her blush.

He did, of course, and it surprised him. He had figured her for an annoying know it all, a bit off her rocker, sort of like a cross between Loony Lovegood and that mudblood, Granger. She wasn't, but she wasn't quite like anyone else he knew, either. It was a bit unsettling. "Well, uh- I'll walk you there. Going there anyway, I guess."

His offer was as unexpected to him as it was to her. "Oh!" Azalea said, her eyes widening, and for a moment Draco wasn't sure if she was displeased or just astonished. "That'd be great, thank you."

They set off, Draco leading the way. "So," he said, after a long and very awkward silence, "er, where are you from?"

"America," Azalea responded tersely. She became perceptively tense; she pursed her lips slightly and looked away.

"No, I meant-" Draco had caught the change in her mood, but like most teenage boys he wasn't terribly smart, so he pressed the subject.

"I know what you meant. It was a small school, fairly good but not widely known, called Fairview Wizarding Academy. It was outside a Muggle city in Connecticut." Her words were clipped, and her eyes narrowed.

"Oh," Draco said, unsure of what to say. It didn't occur to him to say nothing. "Did you like it?"

Azalea gritted her teeth. "No," she said shortly. Thankfully, her guide finally wised up enough to leave it at that.

"Here we are," he said after a bit, stopping before a small brown door. Azalea must have looked perplexed because he added, "Girls' bathroom and showers."

"Oh," Azalea said dumbly. For just a second, she felt a flash of regret. Was their walk over already? She had rather liked talking to the handsome prefect. For a second there, she had forgotten that he was an arrogant prat.

"Well, uh, good night," Draco said. He stared at his feet, looking oddly embarrassed. The slightest hint of color in his cheeks made her think that maybe he was blushing.

"Oh, yes- good night," Azalea repeated automatically. Her cheeks turned pink.

Draco strode away quickly. Collecting herself, she called after him, "Thank you!" He didn't seem to hear here, so she entered the bathroom, where she spent a full ten minutes trying to figure out how to turn on the shower before she gave up, held her wand above her head, and muttered "Aguamenti!"

After a short and very cold shower with almost no water pressure, Azalea returned to her room and changed back into her red flannel pajamas. Millicent was still snoring loudly, and Pansy was now muttering "Kiss me! Kiss me!" in her sleep, so Azalea left the room again.

She went into the common room and pulled a large wingbacked chair up to the hearth. There was a warm, crackling fire, and Azalea watched it as she amused herself with thoughts of home and a few or her pleasanter memories.

"Miss Xavier?" a deep male voice queried. Azalea jumped and turned around. It was Professor Snape.

"Oh, hello sir," Azalea said. She smiled up at him, trying not to look nervous and ending up looking a bit seasick instead. She hoped he wasn't going to force her to return to her room. She didn't think she could stand listening to her roommates for more than a minute at a time.

"You're up late." There was an unspoken question in his voice, and he expected an answer.

"I couldn't sleep," she answered truthfully.

"I see." He gave her a long look. "Miss Xavier, it is highly discouraged for students to be out of bed at night. It is fine if you stay in the Common Room, but I recommend that you do not try to wander the halls. It may be a cure for insomnia, but it is a recipe for detention."  
It was a warning, and she took it as such. "Thank you, Professor," she said.

He nodded curtly and turned to go. Just before he left the Common Room, he stopped and added, "By the way, Miss Xavier, if your insomnia continues I suggest you see either myself or Madam Pomfrey for a sleeping draught."

Azalea chuckled humorlessly. "Honestly, Professor, it'd be more useful if you could give me something to stop my roommates from snoring." _And talking in their sleep_,_ and flatulence_, she added mentally.

Snape's mouth quirked momentarily into what might have been a wry smile, but it was gone before she could tell for sure. "I see," he said dryly. "Best of luck to you, I'm sure." He strode purposefully into the corridor.

Azalea yawned. She was very tired. Maybe she _should _go back up to her room and see if she could fall asleep. Or maybe she could stay right where she was. After all, it was such a long way to her room. No, no. She'd get up in a minute...


	3. Classes

Dragon's Story: Chapter Three

Disclaimer: If I owned Draco, he'd be _mine_. He's not, so enough said.

Azalea woke when a hand shook her shoulder. She cracked open an eye, with slight difficulty. Draco was standing over her. "G' mong," she yawned. She meant 'good morning,' of course, but she was too tired to enunciate properly. "Breakfast time already?"

The prefect chuckled. "No, I think you've missed that. It's time for class." He seemed to take pleasure in her shocked expression.

Azalea jumped up. "Oh, _hellfire_!" she muttered, pulling the armchair back to its original location.

Draco cocked an eyebrow. "Did you sleep down here?" he asked.

"Yes." Before he could ask why, she said, "Pansy talks in her sleep, and Millicent snores."

"I see. Well, you have about ten minutes before class starts. Do you know your way?"  
"Potions is in the dungeons, right, with Professor Snape?" Draco nodded, looking amused. "I think so."

"Good then. I'll see you there."

Azalea dashed up to her room, threw on her robes, said a quick spell to brush her hair, clean her teeth, and wash her hair, grabbed her messenger bag (hoping it had all her books and supplies but in too much of a hurry to check), and dashed out again. Within five minutes, she was hopelessly lost.

"Oh, humbug," she muttered. "This just isn't fair!"

She wandered around, peering down the long hallways and wishing she had a map, but nothing looked remotely familiar. That is, until she saw Draco.

"Lost again?" He sounded annoyed. "Thought you might be. Come on. Who gave you directions, anyway?" He gave a quick jerk of his head to indicate that she was to follow him.

"Pansy Parkinson, same as to the bathrooms." Draco chuckled, and Azalea looked at him suspiciously. "Why?"

"Pansy isn't exactly known for her kindness to others," he explained, looking as if he was enjoying a memory.

"You think she gave me bad directions on purpose?" Azalea asked bluntly. Draco was walking so fast she almost had to run to keep up.

"Likely enough," Draco said shortly. He seemed a little out of breath himself.

"Why are we running?" Azalea asked. "We're already late, aren't we?"

"Yes, but with Snape, if he's in a bad mood..." Draco trailed off as he came to a stop beside a large door. He held it open, and Azalea stepped inside.

The professor in question was snarling at a frightened-looking Hufflepuff girl whose name Azalea didn't know. He straightened up when the latecomers entered. "Decided to join us?" he sneered. _This must be one of his bad moods_, Azalea thought. "It was my fault, sir," she spoke up.

The redhead who had given her directions the day before almost fell out of his seat. "It's her," he hissed, elbowing a friend. "It's the girl I told you about!"

"I got lost," Azalea continued, as Snape gave the redhead an icy glare. "Draco was just-"

"Enough," Snape said. "Go get the ingredients for the Amorabis potion. Instructions are on page 31 of your text."

Draco showed her where the student ingredients and supplies were kept. Then he went and sat down by Pansy, who cooed and fawned over him. To her surprise, Azalea felt jealous. "You're being ridiculous," she told herself firmly as she gathered what she needed. "That boy has no interest in you. Besides, he's a cad. An incredibly good-looking one, but that's beside the point."

A brown-haired witch with slightly large teeth motioned for Azalea to come sit by her. Azalea had seen her sitting at the Gryffindor table, but she didn't know her name. Grateful nonetheless, she smiled and dragged her cauldron next to the other girl's. "I'm Azalea," she said, extending her hand.

"Hermione Granger, Gryffindor." The name sounded familiar, but Azalea wasn't sure why. "Are you a new student?" The girl looked curious.

"Yes, I transferred in from a small school in America." Azalea began dicing part of a dragon liver.

Hermione looked impressed. "Wow, that's really unusual. Hogwarts doesn't usually accept transfer students. What house are you in, Ravenclaw?"

"No, Slytherin," Azalea replied.

"Oh," Hermione looked surprised. "I see." She wasn't smiling, and she turned away. She didn't say anything after that.

Azalea looked at her, surprised. She stirred her potion widdershins for a few moments before she asked bluntly, "Why did you stop talking to me when I said I'm in Slytherin?"

Hermione looked up, as surprised by the boldness of the question as by what she considered the obviousness of the answer. She gave Azalea a funny look when she spoke. "Because Slytherins are arrogant, prejudiced, and power-hungry. It's practically in the definition."

Azalea was taken aback. "Really?" The Sorting Hat hadn't mentioned that. "Are you sure?"

Hermione obviously thought she was nuts. "You really _are_ a new student, aren't you?" She stared incredulously at her.

"Yes." Rhetorical questions were lost on Azalea; they always had been. "Prejudiced against what?"

"Muggle-borns, of course," Hermione said bitterly. " 'Mudbloods,' like me."

"Oh," Azalea said, surprised. Then she remembered something. "Someone did ask me if I had any Muggle blood. I thought it rather odd."

Now Hermione was truly astounded. "You didn't expect it? But- aren't there bigots in America just like everywhere else?" Her potion was starting to burn. Azalea pointed to it, and she resumed stirring.

Azalea smiled dryly. "I expect there are. But I suppose you could say I've lived a rather sheltered life." She gave a bitter laugh. Sheltered typically meant "protected," and that most definitely did not apply. But Azalea couldn't think of a better word. That was rare, for her. She was a logophile, and almost always knew the perfect word for any situation. Ah, well. She'd have to check her thesaurus later.

"Time's up," Professor Snape announced in his oily voice. "Bring me a phial of your...attempt at the Amorabis potion. I expect a foot of parchment on its properties by tomorrow."

Azalea sighed as she looked at the pale pink solution bubbling in her cauldron. It could use more ginger, and it wasn't as translucent as she would have liked, but it would have to do. She scooped up a small glass bottle full and put it on Snape's desk.

She glanced over at Draco's concoction on her way back to her cauldron. It was a smoky black mess with the consistency of bubbling mud. She couldn't help but laugh.

"Forgot to stir, eh Draco?" Her eyes twinkled.

"Oh, stuff it," he snapped angrily.

She sobered immediately. She could tell she'd hurt his pride. "It's a tricky one," she said. "My older sister had to make it several times for school projects, so I got some practice helping her."

"Whatever," he said, still sore but trying to pretend it didn't matter.

Chuckling, Azalea scourgified her cauldron and packed up her things. Boys were so funny. They had such large egos, so much more pride than girls, yet they wouldn't let themselves admit it. It was hilarious.

When she left the classroom, she found Hermione, the redhead, and a black-haired boy Azalea didn't know waiting. "Oh, hello," she said pleasantly, smiling at them.

"So, is it true?" the redhead demanded immediately. "You're a new student?"

"Ron!" Hermione reprimanded sternly, reminding Azalea of –what was that professor's name? Oh, yes, Professor McGonagall. "You could at least introduce yourself first."

"Oh, sorry," Ron said. His ears turned red. "I'm Ron Weasley. So, are you a new student?"

Azalea nodded. "I transferred in from a small school in America." Small hellhole, more like, but she didn't say that. No point in making them think she was crazy by committing the double sin of complaining and giving too much information the first time they met. They could start to hate her next week, no hurry.

She realized that the black-haired boy had been introducing himself. "...Potter," he said.

"Harry Potter?" she repeated. "Oh, the Boy Who Lived. Pleased to meet you, and you too, Ron." She smiled indifferently.

"Well, if it isn't Potty and the Weasel, sucking up to the new girl," a familiar voice sneered mockingly.

"Shove it, Malfoy," Harry snapped. Azalea turned around. It was indeed Draco.

Pansy and the two trolls walked past. Pansy giggled and waved, but thankfully they didn't stop. "Oh, hello Draco," Azalea said, smiling. "Harry and Ron were just introducing themselves. I became acquainted with Hermione during class."

"Oh, I didn't even see the mudblood hiding behind her friends," Draco spat contemptuously.

Hermione flushed a deep pink. "Go to hell, Malfoy," she said.

"Draco!" Azalea chastised. "What on earth is wrong with you?" She looked genuinely shocked.

"He's a prick, that's what's wrong with him," Ron muttered.

"What was that, weasel?" Draco asked, his voice low and dangerous. His eyes glittered, and Azalea saw that his wand was at the ready.

"Oh, for heaven's sake," she muttered.

"Surely you're not offended, Malfoy," Hermione said mockingly. "After all, it's only the truth."

"Filthy mudblood!" Draco snarled. "I ought to–"

"This is ridiculous," Azalea said loudly. "I highly suggest you stop this nonsense immediately." No one was listening.

"Expelli-" Harry began.

"Oh, for crying out loud!" Azalea exclaimed, thoroughly annoyed. She rolled her eyes and said clearly, "Occludoris." There was a loud pop and a puff of grey smoke. When it cleared, all four of the would-be duelers were lying on the ground. They were all glaring at her. She simply raised an eyebrow and said, "I told you not to do anything. Did you listen? No. Of course not."

Draco was shooting daggers at her with his eyes. She only chuckled. "Don't worry, the spell will wear off in a minute. But first I think I'll separate you."

She levitated Draco and sent him floating down the hall in front of her. She waved goodbye to the other three and followed him down the corridor. After a few minutes, he started to twitch, so she let him drift gently to the floor.

"You intolerable meddling fishwife!" he sputtered as he stood up.

Azalea took the abuse calmly. "I probably deserve that," she replied, looking him straight in the eye. "But you're stupider than Millicent if you think I'd let you get into a three-on-one wizarding duel not half a corridor from our head of house's classroom."

"I would have won!" he almost yelled as they continued towards their next class.

"I'm sure you could have," she told him honestly. "But I'm not letting you exercise your animosity at the cost of our house points."

Draco gave her an irritable glance. "Was that all you were worried about?" he asked incredulously. "Snape never takes points from his own house! Gryffindor might have lost ten or twenty, but we would have been fine."

"That's not the only reason," Azalea said with a small smile as he automatically held open the door to the grounds for her. "You could have been hexed and ended up stuck in the hospital wing for a day or two, and where would I be then? I don't know what I'd do without my trusty guide to save me whenever I wander off." She smiled up at him, her eyes shining warmly, and she lightly touched his cheek with her hand before striding off in the opposite direction of the Herbology greenhouses.

Draco stayed frozen to the spot, stunned. There was something enchanting about this girl –and not a little disturbing, too. She had such pretty blue eyes, and her ever-present smile seemed so sincere. Her face was open and expressive, not guarded and distrustful like most people he knew. And on top of it all, she seemed to genuinely like him. He couldn't fathom it. He just didn't get it at all.


	4. Nightmare

Dragon's Flower, Chapter 4: Nightmare

Disclaimer: If I owned Harry Potter and Co., then I wouldn't have to write so many disclaimers. If I didn't have to write so many disclaimers, then I wouldn't have run out of interesting disclaimers to write. I've run out of interesting disclaimers to write. Please include one or more in the review that I fully expect to come the moment you've finished this chapter.

Azalea lay awake in bed. Millicent and Pansy had beaten her to sleep again, and it seemed she was in for another near-sleepless night. She had already taken a shower, and she'd finished all her homework during her afternoon free period, so there was really nothing for her to do. But, anything was better than listening to these two snort and moan all night. Sighing, she got up and made her way to the common room.

She was tired. So, so tired. And her neck was still sore from spending the night before in the wingbacked chair. It had just been a hard day. She had nearly fallen asleep in Ancient Runes –a bad idea, seeing as she had already walked in nearly ten minutes late. She'd been late to all her classes, for that matter. After Potions, Draco hadn't spoken to her again or offered any help in finding her way around, although he was in almost half of her classes.

_Idiot_, Azalea cursed herself silently as she pulled her favorite chair up close to the fire. She collapsed in it. She should have let Draco duel with Harry. She shouldn't have stuck her nose in. She shouldn't have developed a soft spot for him. And she never, never should have touched his cheek. That was a big mistake.

His skin was shockingly smooth. Azalea couldn't help but smile as she remembered. She had noticed his eyes for the first time as he spoke. He had such beautiful eyes, blue-grey with flecks of tawny and green, rimmed with lashes Azalea was sure were longer and thicker than her own. It was indescribable. His gorgeous eyes were unexpected in such a scorn-filled, masculine face. It didn't seem to fit, especially when he smirked, as he was often wont to do. For one long second, Azalea had wanted to kiss him.

Then she dropped her hand, and she felt almost painfully jolted back to reality. Draco was a jerk. He was a jerk who disliked her. He was a jerk who disliked her and seemed to be dating Pansy.

She sighed. It wasn't fair. But, it was probably better this way. She knew better than to get fond of people, attached to them. It never worked out; she always ended up getting burned.

But it didn't matter. She wasn't falling for Draco. Not in the least. She didn't even like him. He wasn't her type. She preferred boys who didn't judge people based on their bloodline, who didn't pick fights for no reason whatsoever. Nice boys, not nice bodies.

Oh, but he was incredibly good-looking. For a bigot. That white-blond hair... she'd bet anything it was soft as silk. And his muscles, wow... smiling, she remembered how he'd walked her back to the common room the night before, dressed only in a towel. She blushed.

But enough. She wasn't falling for him. Not at all. She disliked him. He was too vain, that was obvious in the way he let Pansy fawn over him (and it made Azalea seethe just to think of it). And arrogant, and prejudiced, and often quite grouchy, too! He couldn't answer questions properly, not if they required thinking... just look at his reasoning for why he was in Slytherin! No, she couldn't be falling for him. It was out of the question. Besides, it was too dangerous. She knew better than to trust people. She knew from experience that the only ones she could trust were the people she'd known since birth and toddlerhood.

Speaking of those people, had she ever finished her letters to home? Probably not. She ought to write to everyone already; she'd been here two days. Ought to, but she probably wouldn't, at least not tonight. What would she write? "Dear Perry and Zia, Hogwarts is ten million times better than Fairview, but I would probably hate it if it weren't for an extremely good-looking but arrogant and prejudiced prefect whose eyes make me melt"? No, no, that wouldn't do at all. To her older brother and his wife, Azalea was still a small child, too young to think about boys in any way that didn't involve cooties. She could fill a page with polite statements about nothing later.

Azalea yawned. She was so tired. She could think about Draco and home and everything later. She was too sleepy just now. She laid her head on the armrest of the chair and watched the crackling flames until her eyes slowly began to close...

_She was running, running as fast as she could, but she couldn't escape them. They were too fast, they were gaining on her, she had to keep running..._

_They were still chasing her. They were catching up. She screamed, but no one heard her. No one cared. No one..._

_Running, still running, fleeing for her life, tripping, falling..._

_They had caught her. No one to hear her screaming. No one there..._

"Azalea! Azalea, wake up!" A hand shook her shoulder, and Azalea opened her eyes, gasping for breath. "Azalea, are you okay?"

It was Draco, and he looked worried. Azalea tried to smile, make a joke, say something flippant –but she couldn't. She dissolved into sobs, burying her head in her arms and curling up into a tiny ball on the seat of the chair. She had figured Draco would go away, or at best say something awkward and go get Madam Pomfrey from the infirmary, but he didn't. He did something totally unexpected, and totally right: He sat beside her and put his arms around her protectively. He held her close, brushing her hair back and murmuring silly, quasi-comforting things like "Don't worry" and "It'll be all right."

After a few minutes, Azalea's sobs died down to shaky breaths. "Are you okay?" Draco asked softly, concern showing on his face. Normally he didn't care much when people cried, but there was something about this girl, something about watching Azalea cry her heart out that made him want to play Superman and fix everything. She looked away and nodded.

"I'll be fine," she whispered hoarsely. Her throat felt scratchy, sore.

Draco reached out and grabbed her chin. Glaring, he forced her to look him in the eye. She tried to turn away, but he was _strong_. "Don't lie to me," he snapped. "What's wrong?"

"I- I had a bad dream," she muttered, looking down. "Bad memory."

He released her. "What about?"

Azalea turned away and stared at the coals. The fire had died down considerably.

"What about?" he repeated. "_Azalea_."

She tried not to start crying again. It was embarrassing enough having lost control once, she didn't want to double her humiliation. "It was nothing." Her voice cracked.

Surprisingly even to himself, Draco felt pity. It was not an emotion he was used to. "Oh, Azalea," he murmured. She looked up, seeming almost frightened. For a moment, he wanted to put his arms around her again, comfort her, kiss her, anything –but he didn't. He got up and left. Azalea stared at the flames and blinked back tears. She did not go back to sleep that night.


	5. Morning

Dragon's Flower: Chapter 5

Disclaimer: No one reviewed with any disclaimers, so you don't get one! So there! (Please don't sue me!)

Why did small children think that staying up late was exciting? It wasn't. It was boring, especially after the fire died down around five o'clock, leaving Azalea with nothing to stare at. Azalea had always thought she was an interesting person, but after several hours of being alone with her thoughts she was starting to think otherwise. She had ran out of things to think about! Another second and she'd start debating Muggle politics.

Sighing, she got out of her chair and pushed it back to its normal position. She might as well get ready for school. It was only an hour and a half til breakfast was served. Surely she could find something to occupy her time. Perhaps she could invent an energy potion, or write a post-N.E.W.T. level dissertation on Charms. Or maybe she could find a way to stop talking to herself. That would really be helpful. She was starting to dislike the sound of the voice in her head. She'd never had a problem before, but after four hours of listening to herself think it was starting to grate. Was that normal?

Oy vey, to use a Muggle phrase. Azalea shook her head at herself as she climbed the stairs to her room. Now, not only was she talking to herself, she was talking to herself like an ethnic Muggle! What was she coming to?

She didn't even try to be quiet as she put on clean robes and gathered her schoolbooks. She had determined that Pansy and Millicent could sleep through an earthquake, so why bother trying not to wake them? A herd of stampeding centaurs couldn't have disturbed them, although Azalea rather wished something would. Millicent still snored like an ogre, and Pansy kept murmuring things to an imaginary lover. Azalea found it disgusting.

She cheered up somewhat when breakfast was finally served at half past six. She hadn't been to breakfast before, and she rather liked it. They had all sorts of things, from French croissants to tasty pastries to waffles loaded with syrup. Oh, yes, she found liked breakfast quite a lot. She liked anything with endless syrup.

She was about to start on her fifth plate of food when she saw Draco come into the Great Hall, followed by Pansy, Blaise Zabini, and those two trolls. Azalea almost choked on her sausage. Mortified, she dropped her fork and ran out of the room, clutching her messenger bag by its long strap. She didn't even look back to see if Draco had seen her.

She went straight to the dungeons, although there were still forty-five minutes to wait before Potions. She hoped that if she got there early enough and sat down by that nice brown-haired witch and didn't ever look Draco's way, maybe somehow she could pretend he didn't exist. Oh, she hoped he'd be playing the same game. It would be so awkward if he wasn't. She really hoped she hadn't picked a lovey-dovey, sympathetic, let's-talk-about-our-feelings type of guy to cry and drip snot all over.

Wait, what was she thinking? She sat down against the corridor wall just outside Snape's classroom. Draco, lovey-dovey? Sympathetic? Oy vey, she needed caffeine. She was obviously not awake. Draco, the arrogant jerk, would never admit to having been nice. Thank heavens! The embarrassing events of last night would stay a secret, yes, because otherwise he'd have to drop his self-absorbedness long enough to talk about something other than him! Azalea wasn't entirely sure how she'd come to this conclusion. She had very little hard evidence that Draco was self-absorbed. It was likely, yes, but at this point difficult to prove. Oh, she needed coffee...

"Azalea?" a voice asked. She jumped –Draco? Oh, no, it was only Ron. Thank God. "What are you doing here? It's only seven."

She smiled, relieved. "Oh, nothing, just waiting til class starts."

Ron gave her a sideways look. "Why?" he asked suspiciously. He couldn't understand why anyone would voluntarily spend any more time around the Potions dungeon than was absolutely necessary. Highly suspect behaviour, in his opinion...

She smiled brightly. "Woke up early and had a little extra time this morning." Woke up around half past midnight, in fact. "And what about you, what are you doing here?"

He sighed. "I have to clean Hermione's cauldron."

Now it was Azalea's turn to give Ron a funny look. "Why?"

"I lost a bet."

"What kind of bet?"

"I told Hermione that I could finish my astronomy homework without her help. I fell asleep while working on it in the Common Room. She said she'd finish it if I cleaned her cauldron for her, so here I am." He sighed, looking almost as tired as she felt.

Azalea raised an eyebrow at him and tried not to laugh. "Ron? You realize her cauldron's already clean, right?"

He looked at her quizzically. "Huh?"

"Yesterday, after class, when she finished her Potion, she scourgified it. You know that, right?"

"Oh... Wait, what?"

Azalea rolled her eyes. "You're off the hook, Ron. Sit down."

Yawning, he obeyed. The redhead was _not_ a morning person, that much was obvious. He fell asleep almost right away.

Azalea chuckled. Napping wasn't a half bad idea, actually. She still had twenty minutes left before class was due to start. She rubbed at her eyes with her fist, unaware of how much she looked like a child when she did that. No, napping wasn't a bad idea at all...

She had barely closed her eyes when she felt herself jostled awake. "Azalea?" Harry asked, looking slightly concerned. "You all right?"

She yawned and sat up. "Yeah," she answered, stretching. "Just a little tired. What are you doing here so early?"

Harry frowned. "It's twenty after, not that early. But if you're tired you'd probably have enough time to go back to the Common Room for a little bit, if you wanted to. Why were you sleeping here?"

"I hadn't intended to," Azalea said truthfully. "Just didn't get much sleep last night." She glanced over at the still-sleeping Weasley. "Why aren't you worried about him?"

"Ron? Oh, he can sleep anywhere. That's just Ron."

Azalea had to laugh. "I see," she said. "So, where's Hermione?"

"No idea, actually. She was finishing Ron's–"

"Astronomy homework, he told me. She sent him down here to clean her cauldron, he said, but it's already clean. I saw her scourgify it after class yesterday."

Harry grinned. "She was just trying to get him out of the way," he explained. "He was being kind of a pest, telling her what sorts of things she had to include in the essay and everything. Like she doesn't already know –I mean, she takes the class too, for crying out loud." Azalea chuckled.

"Hello, Azalea." Hermione's voice carried down the hallway. "Hi, Harry. Where's Ron?" Harry pointed, and Hermione laughed. "I should have known."

"Morning, Hermione," Azalea said cheerfully. The brown-haired witch was positively glowing this morning, and Azalea told her so.

"Oh, I just like being right. We had nearly a week to do that essay, and Ron delayed til last night. Being Ron, he of course fell asleep instead of doing it, and woke up with an inkstain on his cheek and no homework."

"I object," Ron said sleepily, rousing himself. "You make it sound like I do that all the time."

"Only because you do," she replied cheerfully. "And next time, I'm going to make you suffer the consequences."

"You say that every time." He yawned, and Harry laughed.

"It's true, you do," he pointed out. She shoved him good-naturedly.

Azalea enjoyed watching them. They seemed so... happy, so easy-going. Azalea wasn't really used to that. Then Hermione turned to her.

"So are you going to watch the Quidditch match this weekend?" she asked.

Azalea blinked. "Say what?"

"Quidditch," Ron said. "Don't tell me you don't have Quidditch in America. It's a game, you fly around on broomsticks and–"

"Of course we have Quidditch in America! There's Quidditch everywhere. I just didn't know there's a game coming up."

"Yeh, Gryffindor vs. Ravenclaw. We'll cream them," he said confidently.

Azalea laughed. "Sure, I'll come," she said. "You on the team?"

"Yeah, I'm Keeper. Harry's Seeker. You play at all?"

She grinned. "Oh, not much. Every once in a while I try my hand at Chaser," she said casually. Truth be told, she was rather good. Not good enough to be on a team, of course, but she could hold her own at family picnics.

"Hey, you should try out next year. Our best Chaser's a seventh year."

"Best except for Ginny," Harry pointed out quickly. A little too quickly, Azalea thought.

"Who's Ginny?" she asked.

"Oh, my little sister," Ron answered. "She's a fifth year. She's pretty good –I taught her, after all— but Katie's got more experience. Katie Bell," he added, for Azalea's benefit.

Azalea had been watching them, a bit confused by the whole "seventh year" comment until she realized that Ron had forgotten she couldn't replace the graduating Bell. "Ron, you realize that even if I tried out, I couldn't replace your Chaser, don't you?" He looked perplexed. "I'm a Slytherin, Ron," Azalea informed him.

"Oh," Ron said dumbly. "Are you serious?"

"Deadly," she replied cheerfully. "Didn't you know?"

He frowned. "I honestly don't remember. I think maybe someone mentioned it, but... I'm not sure."

Hermione grinned. "Doesn't really make sense, does it?" she said to Ron. Then she turned to Azalea and said with a smile, "You're the nicest Slytherin I know. Only nice Slytherin I know, for that matter."

Azalea laughed. "They're not all bad, you know. Draco can be quite friendly sometimes." Then she remembered the events of the night before and blushed. Too nice.

Harry and Ron didn't catch the sudden pink tinge in her cheeks. They were too busy gawking over the fact that she'd called Draco Malfoy _nice_. "Are you bloody kidding me?" Ron exclaimed.

"Language, Ron!" Hermione snapped automatically. Then she turned to Azalea. "Are you?"

She chuckled. "No," she said, smiling as she thought to herself _how_ nice, and then blushing again when she remembered how stupid she'd been, dripping salt water all over him and everything. "It's rare, but it does happen." She repeated that softly to herself. "It does happen."

Harry glanced down at his watch, then up at the large crowd of students rushing so they wouldn't be late for their Potions lesson. "Time for class!" He and Ron ducked inside just before the crowd.

Hermione looked at Azalea. She started to say something, then didn't, and then changed her mind again. "Azalea–" she began. "Did something– I mean, did Draco– are you okay?"

Azalea smiled. "Yeah," she said. "I didn't sleep so well last night, drifted off in the common room actually, and Draco was kind enough to wake me." Hermione raised an eyebrow, and Azalea laughed. "Yes, I just called Draco kind. Intentionally. Now let's get to class before Snape decides to murder us."


	6. New Friends

Dragon's Flower: Chapter 6

Disclaimer: I own Azalea. She is mine, and if you steal her I will beat you up. As much as I would like to be able to say the same for Draco, Harry, Hogwarts, and everything else J.K. Rowling has ever created, it would be a lie. And I, like Abe Lincoln and George Washington, supposedly am unable to lie. I'm sure if I had to I could. But this isn't important enough. So alas I cannot claim Her-my-oh-nee or _Ginevra Molly Weasley! _or Potty or the Weasel or that precious twitchy little Ferret or in fact any other character. But if J.K. Rowling ever decides to give away rights to someone, she should let me know. It would make my week. And that's saying a lot, as I'm a very happy person and it takes a very special thing to count as a defining moment in my life. End disclaimer.

Somehow, Azalea managed to completely avoid looking at Draco during Potions. She didn't even glance his way _once_ the whole time. This was quite the accomplishment, as it involved turning her head at an odd angle whenever she went to the supply cabinet so she wouldn't see him in her peripheral vision, so she was quite proud. Granted, one time she'd walked straight into a short, shy fellow named Neville because she was looking over her right shoulder instead of where she was going, but oh well.

She wasn't sure why it was such a big deal. It's not like anything had happened. She'd had a complete meltdown because of a stupid recurring dream, and he had… been nice. Creepy, but not unusual. Many guys were nice when girls burst into tears. Even complete and total jerks like Draco Malfoy.

No, not guys like Draco. She didn't actually have any conclusive evidence that he was a jerk, except the way he behaved around Hermione and the boys, but somehow she was sure of it. Good guys didn't let Pansy drool all over them during class (as Azalea somehow knew the wretched girl was doing now), and they didn't pick fights with perfectly nice people for no reason, and they didn't care about pedigree and bloodlines unless they were dogbreeders.

But then why had Draco been so sweet last night? Azalea really didn't like crying, or rather she didn't like the feeling of weakness that came whenever she cried, so it bugged her that the prefect had seen her in tears. Meltdowns weren't acceptable, especially not ones caused by stupid little dreams. Lots of girls cried sometimes, true, but she just wasn't one of them. She was too tough for that, and she hated the fact that her breakdown had been witnessed. Azalea frowned; she had accidentally spilt too much rabbit fur into her potion. Now she'd have to add extra arrowroot to make up for it, which would take time, and class was almost over. Argh! Life was just too complicated. She dumped a whole tablespoon of dragon's scale rot into her cauldron and began stirring vigorously, taking her anger out on the mix.

Later, she continued to avoid Draco. It wasn't hard, as he seemed to be avoiding her too. Of course, that could be because she sat with Hermione, Harry, and Ron during all of the classes they had together. She was glad she did. In addition to keeping Draco away, it was very fun. The three friends were so relaxed and happy. They teased each other about everything, and there was never a dull moment. She had to suffer through lunch with the other Slytherins, but she was able to spend most of the rest of the day around her new friends.

Ron leaned over to her in the middle of their History of Magic class to pass her a note. It had been torn out of parchment, and a few short sentences had been scribbled on it. Ron was laughing, but the sandy-haired boy next to him seemed to be trying to kill him. Azalea took the note and read it.

Ron- who's the new chick? She's hot!

-Seamus

She started to laugh, and waved at the sandy-haired boy. He was now giving Ron a death glare. "Hi Seamus," she whispered, then glanced nervously at Professor Binns, who hadn't even noticed the small commotion. Azalea was starting to think the ghostly teacher wasn't all that attentive. According to the scuttlebutt, he hadn't even noticed when he'd died. He'd simply gotten up, leaving his body behind, and went to teach class as usual. Snape, on the other hand, would've killed them.

After class, Azalea approached Seamus, who looked rather embarrassed. "Hi," he said apologetically.

"Hello Seamus." Azalea grinned at him. "I'm Azalea Xavier. I'm a transfer student."

He looked perplexed. Ron clapped him on the shoulder. "Yeh, I didn't know Hogwarts had transfer students either."

Seamus grinned ruefully. "Sorry, Azalea. I wouldn't have written that if I thought he'd give it to you."

Azalea tried not to laugh. "Apology accepted. Hey, I'll see you guys later. I've got a ton of make-up work to do."

"Wait!" Seamus said quickly as she turned away.

"What?"

"D'you have plans for Saturday?" he asked, rushing so that it sounded like one long word.

"Not really, just planning on going to the Quidditch game I heard about. Gryffindor and Ravenclaw, isn't it?"

"Why don't you sit with me?"

Azalea couldn't hide her smile. "I was planning on finding Hermione, actually."

"That's okay, we'll sit by her!"

He looked so eager that Azalea couldn't refuse. "All right." She waved goodbye and walked off. It might actually be fun. And she knew she'd be needing a distraction from all the work she had to try and finish. Half of her teachers had suddenly decided she needed to write essays proving she knew the material the class had already covered. She was planning on skipping dinner that night to get as much work done as possible. Hopefully she'd be able to finish Transfiguration, at least. Maybe Charms too, if she didn't sleep. And as she didn't want to have to be woken up from a nightmare again, she was planning on bribing a house elf to find her some coffee. Pulling an all-nighter had never seemed so appealing before.

---

AUTHOR'S NOTE:

I have written the next chapter, I really have! And my dog didn't eat it, although I'm sure he'd be happy to oblige. No, it's simply that I mailed it to a friend at camp (I handwrite first) who hasn't yet returned it. Expect it within the next two weeks. Better news, I just found all my old notes from when I began this story, so I'll have lots to work with for the next few chapters.

If my friend doesn't send ch. 7 to me soon, I'll just re-write it. Don't worry. It really is coming.


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